


Shepherding the wolf

by Ray_Murata



Series: tête-à-tête [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age II ACT I, M/M, Qunari Culture and Customs, Saarebas, Shepherding Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 19:00:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_Murata/pseuds/Ray_Murata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early (mage) Garrett Hawke x Fenris<br/>It takes place in ACT 1, after the quest “Shepherding Wolves”</p><p>Hawke pays a visit to the elf warrior who, despite being around for half a year, still acts like a ghost. The mage has something in store for Fenris, but given the elf's knowledge of the Qun, it’s also a great opportunity to clear his doubts about Ketojan, the Qunari Saarebas they had tried to help - Somehow it turns into a heavy conversation on slavery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shepherding the wolf

The winter was coming up fast. The morning was gray and chilly when the mansion’s door swung open for Garrett. Fenris stood in his usual attire, black tunic and leggings, but no armor or gauntlets. He didn’t look like he’d just gotten up, but if the mage had to guess, the warrior hadn’t exactly had an invigorating night of sleep either. Had he slept at all? 

Hawke walked in, rubbing his hands along his own shoulders and arms, looking around. It was almost as cold inside as outside, as if there was nothing protecting the house from the crisp. Hardly a surprise at all, given the shattered glasses on the windows, the ceiling holes, the outworn walls and humid, moth-eaten carpet. At least half a year had gone by since the elf had claimed his former master’s estate, but the place still looked forsaken. The mansion was hardly a welcoming sight. 

Its squatter, however…

“Cozy in here,” Hawke teased, not bothering to take off his coat. “I wish Gamlen’s place was this homely.” Both Fenris’ and his uncle’s places were falling apart, but at least the latter was kept warm by human heat. One had to look on the bright side to stay sane. 

Of all the friends he’d made in Kirkwall since his arrival, Aveline was probably the one who had it best, and that wasn’t exactly saying much, but at least he had the upcoming Deep Roads Expedition to look forward to. With any luck it’d get him out of Gamlen’s hair, either by means of coin or funeral. 

When beckoned inside the rooms of Danarius’ old mansion, Hawke tailed Fenris, watching silently as the elf reached his living quarters and sat down. The shorter male offered a chair with a civil gesture, then stretched his hand out to pick a bottle of wine that had been resting on the table. Another one lied empty by its side, he noticed as he sat down. 

After taking a long swig, Fenris extended the bottle to his guest. “I’d offer something else if I had anything,” the male apologized, intense green eyes giving out the inebriation of their owner. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but his eyebrows weren’t knitted and his facial features weren’t tensed up either. 

With a playful chuckle, Hawke accepted the wine. He didn’t usually get plastered that early in the morning, but for some reason it was surprisingly easy to undress himself of any criticism and simply join in in the reckless drinking. “Don’t worry, you’re still better at entertaining than Gamlen,” he mentioned before gulping down some of the drink. He raised the bottle up to his eye level and inspected the label. “Tevinter winery.” It wasn’t a brand as fancy as the Aggregio Pavali Fenris had shattered against the wall some months earlier, but it was reasonably dainty nonetheless. He lifted his gaze and locked eyes with the elf as he handed back the drink. “If this is breakfast, I do hope I’m also invited for dinner?”

Fenris cracked up - Large green eyes narrowed, shoulders wiggled. The corners of his mouth curved upwards, his white teeth showed. It was a sight to sore eyes, Hawke thought, enjoying the echoing sound of the elf’s grave and pleasing voice. He couldn’t help but smile back. Every time Fenris laughed, it was as if humour had caught him unprepared, unexpectedly. The laugh turned into a faint chuckle and he washed it down with the wine - It was over faster than the mage would have liked it to. 

Garrett rested his back on the chair, bracing himself and instinctively glancing over at the unlit fireplace. “Here I thought Tevinters would find Kirkwall’s weather a bit unsavory,” he mentioned absently, given that Fenris didn’t look half as uncomfortable with the temperature as he did. With time, the mage would get to know the warrior a lot better and would come to know just how high was Fenris’ pain tolerance threshold. 

“And here I thought Fereldens were used to blizzards,” the elf bounced back. 

“Well, yes”, Hawke agreed reluctantly, tilting his head to one side and then the other, smiling meekly. “But at least I had the warmth of a cozy and comfortable home back in Lothering.”

“That’s…. Something to miss, I suppose. I’ve been on the run so long that this,” Fenris gestured to the decrepit, dusty and dimly lighted corners of the room, “is a luxury inn.”

“I’m sure the rats and spiders agree,” he joked as he was handed the bottle. 

The echos of a guileless chuckle filled the room again and there was a genuine smile on the mage’s lips as he brought the bottle to them. He was drinking it in sips whereas the elf was chugging down large amounts. Maybe that explained his bright mood.

“So I’m guessing more trouble has found you?” Fenris deduced. “If you’re here.”

For a moment, Hawke debated telling the other that he’d enjoy visiting even if there was no reason to; that he’d like to knock on the mansion’s door without a job to offer or a request to make; that he craved Fenris’ company much more than he needed the warrior’s excellent fighting skill. For months now those feelings had been swelling and he constantly had to keep himself from dropping by out of the blue, fearful that his spontaneity would not be appreciated. 

“When does it not?” was the answer he settled for instead, feeling silly. His amber eyes traveled away from the handsome elf and rested just as yearningly on the dusty and forgotten fireplace. “Could we maybe light this up?” He lifted a hand to express his magical intentions, lest he’d annoy his magic-hating host. Big green eyes shifted from the raised hand to the moss taking over the walls around the hearth.

“It’s damp,” grave voice stated the obvious.

“I can fix that. Is there any wood around?”

Fenris stood up unhurriedly and lazily made his way to a bookshelf on the corner of the room. He pulled a handful of thick books, the only ones that remained, and threw them unceremoniously into the fireplace, without so much as glancing at the titles. Hawke frowned, but said nothing - He could tell from the distance that the books were worn out and most likely too moth-eaten to read, so he did not protest to the atrocity of book-burning. The elf then turned his head to the left and right, looking for something else. He eventually lifted one of the spare wooden chairs, raising it over his head and then bringing it down with great force and agility, slamming it against the floor and shattering it into timbers. He threw the planks into the hearth.

“That should do,” he said at last, piling the remaining pieces of wood on the side, possibly reserving them for a later occasion. 

With his host’s approval, Hawke stood up and gracefully conjured a fireball, setting wood and paper on fire. Fenris pulled Hawke his chair, placing it as close to the heat as possible, then sat himself down on the bench a couple of steps away, wine bottle in his hand. The mage thanked the kindness and sat down again. They were now illuminated by the fire’s shimmering blaze. 

“So,” Fenris began after a sip of wine. “What maddening job or cry for help have you accepted this time, Hawke?” 

“There’s something,” Hawke answered, crossing a leg over the other and enjoying the warmth that slowly filled in the room. “But I was hoping I could first talk to you about yesterday.”

“About yesterday?” The elf raised a brow. “About the Saarebas?”

Garrett nodded. “I thought you could clear a couple of doubts I still have,” the mage explained. Fenris had a reasonably good knowledge of the Qunari, unlike himself, and he figured he could stand to know a bit more if he was going to bump into them that often. Beyond curiosity, though, Hawke hadn’t failed to notice the warrior’s quietness and lack of engagement the day before. After knowing him half a year, he would have thought Fenris would have opposed his decision to help out a qunari mage escape, or that at least he would have thrown them a handful of spiteful and derisive remarks regarding mages and magic, but the elf had been practically mute the entire day, except to tell him the Saarebas was probably far too gone in his leash. It had him thinking.

“I’m sure you must know at least a couple of more advisable people to clear your doubts than an escaped slave.”

“You seem apt enough to me,” Hawke protested. “Even the Arishok was impressed.”

“Hgn,” Fenris grunted. “What I know is mostly just quiet observation.”

“I’ve always thought Tenvinter was at war with the Qunari.”

“Precisely,” Fenris agreed, placing the empty bottle of wine to the side and resting a hand on his thigh. “Most of the magisters would rather strive endlessly among themselves for power over the Imperium, but the war continues.”

“How did you come to observe them, then?”

“War doesn’t mean constant battling,” Fenris clarified softly. It hit Hawke as a very obvious fact, but he was glad for the elf for not mocking his naive question. “Very often it involves truces, negotiating, coexisting. And without question it is wise to learn the most you can about the enemy, as pointless as that is for the Imperium. You end up spending a lot of time in close proximity.” 

“Friends close and enemies closer?” Garrett summarized, then added playfully: “I wonder which one I am to you.” He gave the other man a cocky little smirk and Fenris returned in kind.

“That remains to be seen,” he teased. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and the human saw little, if any hostility at all. Entrapping eyes, he thought, missing them as soon as their owner had averted his gaze. The elf adjusted himself on the bench. “What do you want to know?”

Hawke coughed. “The Saarebas… He called me basvrad… I kind of have a feeling he told me what it is, but… Care to enlighten me?”

“Baasvarad,” Fenris corrected him. “It’s what he said. Worthy of following… Contradictory since you’re also Bas Saarebas, a dangerous thing.” 

“Now, no need for flattery,” Hawke jested with a snarl. 

“Then again, the Qunari are harder on their own mages. The Saarebas are restrained and leashed together, it’s what they call the Karataam.” Fenris explained patiently. “The Asvaarad is the keeper that watches over them. If a mage runs ashtray, then they are doomed corrupted and it becomes the Asvaarad’s mission to hunt them down and kill them, if they don’t immolate themselves first. We kind of walked right in on that.” 

“Bloody waste of my time,” Hawke complained again. Going through all of that trouble only to discover that Sister Petrice had set him up had been quite anger-triggering, but watching the Qunari mage set himself on fire had been a hell of a downer. It’d kept him awake for hours. 

“That’s what you get from Qunari,” the elf retorted in an almost humorous tone, but the tiny half-side smirk vanished from his face as quickly as it’d appeared. “They’re slaves to their beliefs, therefore to themselves. A Qunari is not a being for itself, but for the Qun.”

“Huh,” the mage snorted. “They sound pretty insane to me.” It was impossible not to look at it from the lens of his own experience. Being hunted by the Templars and forced into the Circle was already terrifying on its own. It turned his stomach to go as far as entertaining the idea of chains, collar and masks, like the Saarebas. “Do you think it’s right, what they do?”

Fenris tilted his head and watched the flames flicker. His shoulders were hunched forward and it took him a long moment to finally offer a response. “How can any society trust mages to supervise themselves entirely, when they’re prone to losing control over who they are? Ultimately it would mean giving demons a free pass.”

“Not all mages lose control,” Garrett argued, not hiding a slight sourness. 

Fenris was quick to jump in the discussion, perhaps a bit more fiercely than Hawke would have wanted. “It doesn’t take all to get where Tevinter is, or worse. How much temptation can a man refuse? How many times would it take a demon to prey on the average mage’s desires until they give in? And the weak ones? And the wicked, and the willing? They far outnumber the strong enough to resist, Hawke. In the Imperium, the good ones are either pawns or victims of the magisters. There’s no escape to the madness.”

“So you agree with the blindfolding, binding, leashing and gagging?”

The warrior flinched, grunted something entirely unintelligible, then shifted again on his seat. The memories of their very first encounter and conversation suddenly returned to Hawke’s mind and he questioned the effect of his words. He had intended them as nothing but a description of Ketojan’s condition - Something alien and outrageous to him, but that he had never experienced himself. The same could not be said about Fenris, he recalled. What agonizing memories or painful thoughts had the Saarebas’ presence and mention triggered on the ex-slave’s mind? Did he not sympathize with the qunari mage, given his personal experiences? “Should they all have their bodies restrained and lips stitched against their will?”

Uneasy, the elf snorted and shook his head. “You’ve seen it yourself… Yet you clearly didn't grasp it. It may sound absurd, but willing is not the same as choosing. The Saarebas wanted the restraint.”

“And did you? When Danarius put you in that horrid collar?” The words came out of Hawke’s mouth faster than he had wanted them to, and echoed through the rotting walls of the mansion just as the regret of saying them kicked in.

The green eyes that stared at him showed intense discomfort and mild anger, but to his surprise Fenris actually awarded him an answer. 

Curt, stiff, nearly a grunt. “I did.”

Hawke’s chest fell. “You did?” Perhaps he was far more ignorant than he had initially reckoned, but the elf’s answer made very little sense. Hadn’t Fenris cussed his former master and complained about the treatment he’d gotten? Did he not hate what had been done to him? Had he not escaped? Didn't he seek revenge? How could he have wanted it?

“These markings… They made me Danarius’ most valuable slave. I was his bodyguard, kept always close at hand to protect him and serve him, but also to rub off his wealth and achievements on his enemies’ faces,” as the warrior spoke, the mage’s amber eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in every word as well as every expression. That Fenris was sharing this at all seemed like an achievement. In the past six months, every single one of his friends had spilled out their hearts’ contents to him on more than one occasion, except for the elf. Perhaps some of them had told him more lies than truth, but at least they made themselves approachable. With Fenris, that was a rare and precious occasion. If he were to guess, those two empty bottles of wine had definitely played their part. 

“I was envied… No,” the elf continued. “I was feared, and hated, by all of Danarius’ other slaves and apprentices. I was not a person to him, nor to them… But I didn’t know that then. I thought of myself lucky, for I had no experience to compare mine to. At times my actions were dictated by an instinct of survival… But within the limitations of slavery, I thought I was making choices. My worth, my entire existence was reaffirmed by serving and therefore I thrived to do it. I wanted to make Danarius proud. I was a prize and I was willing to be paraded. It was not, however, a choice. I just didn’t know any better.”

Silence fell heavy and thick between them. Garrett found it difficult to grasp the deep and complex meaning of the message, and despite his urge to ask more about the male’s past, his mouth was dry. He gulped down saliva to untie the nervous knot down his throat before finally mustering up the boldness to ask. “When did it change? What made you unwilling?”

Fenris looked down. There was great grief in his eyes. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said gravely, and Garrett felt his heart sink like an anchor. “Perhaps another time.”

His own voice was heavy when he nodded: “I can respect that.” That "other time" would take over two years to come, but Fenris would, eventually, give him the answers.

An entire, endless minute went by afterwards. Fenris looked down at his bare feet as if there was something interesting to be found, something new. Hawke watched him with the corner of his eyes, careful not to stare too long. He didn’t think the male appreciated prying eyes, or any eyes at all, resting on his figure. A most regrettable fact, given his undeniable, unique beauty. 

“No form of slavery is a choice,” it was the elf who broke the silence, gazing up at the roof, then at the fireplace. “But it’s in willing subjects that it propers,” there was certain solemnity to his words. “The Qunari are born and raised to submit, and they’ll will it.”

“Does that make it right?” Hawke challenged, failing to understand how a Saarebas’ restraint could be, at the same time, a role demanded and forced upon them by the Qun, and their own personal desire, but not a choice. More than that, he struggled to grasp Fenris’ position. To the mage, that the Saarebas’ wanted to be worthy in the Qun did not justify the Qun imposing leashes on them.

“No.”

“I am confused,” the man admitted unceremoniously. 

“I haven’t said the Qunari methods of chaining their mages are warranted.” Fenris sounded edgy, defensive, as if resenting Hawke for putting words in his mouth.

“Then what did you say?”

“That being cautious is better than being reckless,” he clarified, turning to face Hawke after a long time avoiding his gaze altogether. His silky silvery white bangs waved and shone in the flickering firelight. “I have myself experienced the horror of recklessness, but I do not claim to know the best means of caution. Yet it is necessary.”

Garrett sighed heavily. He ran a hand through his pitch black hair and then scratched his chin where the beard itched. Fenris had given him enough to think about for a whole week, if not more. Hawke usually fought or joked his way through life, letting gushes of wind lead his steps and luck choose his fate, but Kirkwall seemed to ask more of him with each passing day. He could no longer push to the side the matters that did not interest him or affect him - The Templars, the Circle, the Qunari, the Dalish, the lingering slavery, the dwarves… Somehow he was involved in all of it now, and eventually he’d have to take stands. Not knowing the first thing about each matter was no longer naive, but downright stupid. And offensive.

Even if he sympathized and wished to free every mage in town, he did not reject Fenris’ stand either. It was as legitimate as his own. “It is something to ponder,” he acquiesced.

Perhaps because he’d sensed the topic had drawn to an end, the elf stood up and kindly changed subjects. “You’ve mentioned a job,” he said as he walked over to the table and fumbled his scattered possessions for a coin purse, checking its content. “I could use the coin.”

“Well, yeah, about that,” Hawke stumbled, making faces, thumb and index finger massaging his own chin. “It might or might not be profitable.”

Fenris’ brows knitted. “How is that?”

“Well, I can’t give you the details just yet, but I hope you’ll be able to come to the Hanged Man this evening? We will meet the associates then.” 

“It sounds fishy to me,” Fenris admitted, leaning against the table with arms crossed over his chest and a raised brow. "I don't really like fishy.".

“I’d still appreciate your help. I don’t trust any other warrior for the job. There’s not one as capable,” it was a lot easier to flirt if it sounded cheap, if it didn’t involve baring his heart to an elf who could so easily pull into his chest and rip it off.

Fenris’ lips curved on a single side. “You are hardly a man that needs protection,” he offered back, not exactly subtle in the flattery exchange. “But I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Fenris,” the mage said, standing up. He’d have liked to linger, but he’d done what he’d set out to do and there was hardly any reason he could give the elf to justify staying, unless he were to tell him of the pleasure he took in staring into his merciless green eyes, or of the daydreams of a Lyrium marked body that had him panting under his own touch. 

He left.

\------------------------------------

“Fenris won’t appreciate this,” Carver mentioned later that night. Their group of friends was gathered around The Hanged Man’s largest table, several glasses of cheap spirits resting on top of the wood as well as a few empty dishes and a couple of decks.

“That’s part of the fun, Junior,” Varric explained with a mirthful chuckle. “It’s not like he can get any broodier, anyway. You, serah, could do with some loosening up as well.” 

“I’m dying to see his face,” Isabela admitted before downing what most likely wasn’t her own tankard.

“What, he doesn’t know we’re playing?” Merrill questioned, turning her face from Isabella to Varric and then to a smirking Hawke. The tall mage offered a shaking head as response.

“I have a feeling this will be anything but a fun night. Why would you want him here at all? We could carry on without,” Anders complained, upset. He’d been nursing a glass ever since they’d arrived - Garrett wasn’t sure the healer had even sipped it at all. Didn’t Justice like spirits?

“I want him to join us.” Hawke said bluntly, and Isabella hooted by his side.

“The elf needs to stop being a ghost, he’s been locked up in that m-” Varric started, but cut himself short when he noticed Merril and Anders’ expressions. Both were sitting across from him on the table and had spotted Fenris’ arrival a little too late.

“I can already tell this isn’t going anywhere pleasant,” came the elf’s grave voice. “Hawke?” He half-greeted, half-inquired, gaze resting questioningly on the mage and the mage alone.

“Fenris,” Garrett stood up and gestured for the other male to take a seat, but the elf stood still, waiting for an explanation. “So… About that job. We were sort of hoping you would join us for a round of Wicked Grace?”

“Wicked Grace?” The warrior snorted. “ _That_ is why you tricked me here?”

Hawke tried his most charming smile. “You could say it’s payback and we’re even? Come on, it won’t hurt you to sit down and play cards once in your life. I’m buying the drinks.”

“To all of us?” Isabela chipped in, “Now, isn’t that generous of you.”

“Ok, maybe just one round of drinks,” the mage corrected himself, shifting his gaze back to Fenris after being distracted by the pirate captain. “Fenris?”

“What makes you think slaves learn how to play cards?” The elf asked - His voice sour and heavily weighted, something Garrett couldn’t distinguish between hurt pride or boiling anger. Possibly both.

“I told you so, brother,” Carver gloated.

“Well, lucky you I am here,” Isabela intervened. “I am very good at teaching… And I love the challenge of an inexperienced man,” she shuffled the deck of cards very skilfully in her hands, looking up at the elf with hungry eyes. The fact the woman barked at every single tree was the only reason Garrett wasn’t boiling with jealousy from her mindless flirting.

“Come on, elf, with all that brooding you actually stand an advantage against the rest of us. We’ll never be able to tell if you have a crappy or decent hand,” the dwarf gestured, tapping the empty seat next to him and beckoning the male to sit.

Fenris’ green eyes searched for Garrett's again. The mage smiled, cocking his head and pointing his chin on the chair’s direction. When the elf finally groaned in defeat and plopped down on the assigned seat, an ear-to-ear smile blossomed on Hawke’s face. His amber eyes beamed joyfully. 

“At least I can look forward to beating him,” Anders whispered from Garrett's side, but not low enough that Fenris would have missed it.

“Pleasure in beating someone who doesn’t even know the rules of the game? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a mage,” the elf barked back.

“Now now, let’s tone down all this loving, shall we?” Hawke jested as he sat down again. This was definitely going to be a long and interesting night. There were alarmingly high chances of it turning out either disastrous or murderous or both, but perhaps that was exactly where the fun lied. “Deal us in, Varric.”

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!  
> Please leave a comment if you liked it or see something that needs editing! 
> 
> The inspiration for this fic came from Fenris' first scene (when he mentioned being kept on a leash like a Qunari mage to mock Qunari custom) and a couple of party banters - I've copy pasted them below.  
> (one of them is from a DLC I haven’t had the opportunity to play yet D: how sad is that?)
> 
> \-------  
> Aveline: There's a war coming. Does it feel different, fighting by choice?  
> Fenris: You were never ordered to kill?  
> Aveline: I was a soldier, but I was willing.  
> Fenris: I was willing, as well, but not by choice. (Laughs) If that makes any sense.  
> Aveline: Does anything in this mess?  
> \-------  
> Varric: You, elf, are one lucky son-of-a-bitch.  
> Fenris: Is this about the diamondback game? Again?  
> Varric: I've never seen anyone bluff like that in my life! I was sure you had a hand full of nothing.  
> Fenris: So was I. You're the one who pointed out I had four serpents.  
> Varric: See? Luckiest bastard I've ever seen.  
> \--------  
> The second one made me think that Fenris probably learnt how to play cards with their lot. I like to imagine that he actually won the game, too. Perhaps beginner's luck, or maybe Isabella cheated to help him. Who knows?


End file.
